


Strength of the Spirit

by Aglarien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/pseuds/Aglarien
Summary: Gildor plays with bees, Glorfindel loses a book, Erestor find a book, and what is it with all the ghostly music and a misty figure in the moonlight?





	1. When you go in search of honey...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keiliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Alas, not mine, except for the cat. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.  
> Author's Notes: Written for Keiliss, who requested bees, for the Ardor in August 2017 fic swap.  
> Beta: Phyncke  
> Timeline: somewhere around T.A. 300

One  
When you go in search of honey you must expect to be stung by bees.  
Joseph Joubert 1754-1824

“Erestor, may I speak with you please?” Glorfindel stood in the doorway of Erestor’s office looking perplexed.

“Yes, of course you may,” Erestor said, looking up from the stack of paper he was tackling. “How can I help you?” It was unusual to see a troubled look on Glorfindel’s face. Imladris’ captain normally radiated confidence and calm.

“Last night, I was reading a book before taking my rest, as I often do. I distinctly remember closing the book and setting it on the table next to my bed before I snuffed out the candle. This morning, it was gone! I’ve searched everywhere in my room for it and it’s simply disappeared. I wouldn’t be so concerned, but it was my personal and quite treasured volume – The History of Ondolindë. You know the one I mean? I should dearly hate to lose it. Can you help me look for it? Keep your eyes open for it if it shows up anywhere? Perhaps ask some of the scribes to look in the library for it? I can’t imagine anyone came into my rooms and took it. It’s impossible to think that I wouldn’t have woken.”

Erestor did indeed know the volume. It was an ancient and precious illuminated book of inestimable worth, even back when it had been penned in the Hidden City. He knew that Glorfindel sometimes found comfort in rereading the stories of his former friends and companions. “Are you sure it was last night that you had the book?” Erestor asked, immediately adding, “No, of course you’re sure. Sorry, I spoke without thinking. That is an odd mystery indeed. Of course I will help you look for it.”

It was at that moment that Lindir came running, stopping abruptly when he saw the doorway blocked by Glorfindel. “Master Erestor,” he said, “My lord Elrond sends for you to come. Gildor has had an accident and been taken to the healing wing.”

The three elves hurried to the healing rooms and Erestor immediately went to Gildor’s side. Gildor looked dreadful, his hands and face covered in angry red marks. One of the healers motioned to him and said, “Come and take my place, Master Erestor, and I will begin mixing the salve we need.” Erestor stepped in and began to remove what he assumed were the stingers of bees from Gildor’s hands.

“What on Arda were you trying to do?” Elrond asked, working as quickly as possible to remove stingers from his cousin’s face. Luckily the high neckline of Gildor’s leather jerkin had protected his neck. The bees hadn’t been overly interested in the rest of his body, having found an ample ground for stinging between face and hands. 

“If you were a man instead of an elf, the number of stings would probably have killed you already,” Erestor said as he scraped another stinger out of Gildor’s hand. It was clear in Erestor’s voice that the chief counselor was not happy.

“I wanted to move the wild nest that I found to the new hive. It’s important, Elrond. If it works we’ll be able to extract the honey without destroying the hive.” Gildor winced as Erestor scraped another stinger. “It makes no sense to have to destroy the whole hive and kill the bees to harvest the honey. There has to be a better way.” His mouth was abruptly silenced when Elrond’s chief healer, Naeron, took the opportunity to insert a spoon full of honey in it.

“The honey will help counteract the venom from the stings,” Elrond said, removing the final stinger from Gildor’s face. “Is the salve ready, Naeron?”

“It is, my Lord,” Naeron replied, handing Elrond a bowl full of the mixture of honey and lavender oil that would help calm the itching and reduce the pain.

“Next time, do wear gloves and a veil over your face, will you?” Elrond began to spread the paste over Gildor’s face, which was now appropriately red and swollen. “This salve should reduce the swelling and redness within the next few days,” he said. 

“A pretty sight you will be until then,” Erestor said as he took some of the salve from the bowl and began to spread it over Gildor’s hands, followed by wrapping them in strips of linen.

“Would you leave my fingers free, please?” Gildor asked carefully. 

Erestor realized Gildor had sensed either anger or plain prickliness in the tone of his voice. He hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but he couldn’t help how stressed he sounded. He remained silent, but wrapped Gildor’s fingers individually, sheathing all but the two untouched ones in the protective linen. 

Thank you, Erestor,” Gildor said, gently trying to flex his fingers. It was clear that the swelling was already making movement difficult. 

When the treatment of the stings was completed, Gildor was liberally dosed with a tea to help rid his body of the poisons. “Rest for now,” Elrond said. “I expect you to develop a fever from all the stings, but we’ll keep giving you the tea to help with that.”

“Surely you can’t mean to keep me here for a few bee stings?” Gildor asked incredulously. “I really much prefer resting in my own rooms.”

“You’ve had more than just a few bee stings,” Elrond said, “and we don’t know how bad your reaction is going to be. I can assure you that you will have fever and pain, but it’s possible that you will also have nausea and dizziness. ”

“It’s better if you stay here, Gildor,” Erestor said firmly. “The other healers are here to help Elrond, and I will not risk you being as far away as your rooms from them.” Turning to Elrond he said, “I will stay with him and we will send for you if there is need. It’s nearly time for the evening meal anyway. I will take mine with Gildor, and after dinner he will hopefully be able to sleep.” 

“You won’t mind staying with me?” Gildor asked. “You’re not angry with me?”

Erestor sighed. He’d much prefer to have this conversation with Gildor alone, but all of the healers except Elrond had left the room. “No, not angry. Frightened,” Erestor admitted. “The number of stings you had – it could have killed you. It still might. I don’t want to lose you when we’ve only just begun to find each other. I can’t lose you.” The two of them had only recently found their friendship deepening, and he was not prepared to lose Gildor to anything, let alone something as seemingly innocent as bee stings. He bent and kissed Gildor’s head, being careful to avoid the salve-covered and irritated skin.

Erestor had sent for Elrond barely an hour later when Gildor had been unable to stomach more than a small cup of broth for his dinner and his fever had risen. Elrond had ended up spending most of the night at his cousin’s side with Erestor. Once the fever was no longer rising and Gildor as able to sleep, Erestor lay resting on a cot beside Gildor’s bed and Elrond left to take what rest he could, returning to the room just as dawn was breaking. “Has there been any change?” 

Erestor shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “He hasn’t woken since you left and the fever is much the same, though Naeron has been in and out to check on him and help get that tea down him. Will he recover, Elrond? I could not bear to lose him.”

“He is strong and is fighting the poison,” Elrond said. “His breathing is steady and deep, and that is a very good sign.” The healer gently placed a hand on Gildor’s forehead, checking the fever. “I think he might be slightly cooler. We need to keep waking him enough to drink more of the tea. The herbs are helping.”

Erestor nodded, and once again they raised Gildor enough to press a cup to his lips. 

When they had gotten as much of the tea into him as they could and Gildor was again asleep, Elrond sat across from Erestor in the chair he’d been occupying most of the night. “Celebrían and I have happily watched the growing affection between the two of you,” he finally said. “Do you love him?”

Erestor was silent for long moments before he finally answered the question. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer to the question. He hadn’t yet given voice to his feelings and when he did, Gildor should be the first to hear it. “He has become very dear to me. Yes, I rather think I do,” he finally said. He suddenly knew he didn’t want to discuss it with Elrond any longer. He wasn’t ready to share what was in his heart with anyone other than Gildor, and was fairly certain that Elrond would understand the meaning behind his next words. “Go and break your fast with your wife, Elrond,” he said. “I think you are right. His fever is going down. I will watch over him closely and send for you again if there is any change.” 

Elrond looked at Erestor closely before giving him a nod. Rising, he checked Gildor’s temperature one more time and then left the room.

Erestor quietly watched Gildor for several long moments, and then started when Gildor softly spoke. “I rather think I do, too, you know. Feel the same about you, I mean. But Elrond and Celebrían need to mind their own business.”

Erestor chuckled almost inaudibly. “Aye, they do. How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to hear most of the exchange between you and my cousin but feeling too wasted to move.”

“That’s the fever. Do you think you could eat something?”

Gildor shook his head. “No, not yet. Just talk to me. Tell me….anything. Just let me hear your voice.”

“Hmmm.” Erestor suddenly remembered Glorfindel’s visit and told Gildor about it.

“It would be a terrible thing indeed for Glorfindel to lose that book,” Gildor said. “Whatever could have happened to it? I will help you look for it when I am recovered.” He lay quietly for a while and then said, “Have you eaten at all? I don’t remember you having your dinner and it must be time for the morning meal. Go and eat and change. The healers will look after me.”

“Yes, I suppose I should. I am rather hungry and I could do with a wash and change of clothes, but I hate to leave you,” Erestor said. “I cannot lose you, Gildor. Not when I have just found you.”

“You will not lose me,” Gildor whispered. “I refuse to let my bees kill me.” He smiled, his swollen face making it look more like a grimace. He laid a swollen, bandaged hand over one of Erestor’s that rested atop the bed. “I never thought to tell you in a place or at a time like this, but I do love you, Erestor, with all my heart. I’m so sorry I was careless and let this happen to me.”

“Not careless,” Erestor said, leaning forward so only Gildor could hear him and resting his other hand on top of Gildor’s, “you just love your bees so much that you forgot the wild nest was not to be trusted. And I love you too, with all of my heart.”

The healer Naeron and one of his assistants entered the room carrying a large bowl of steaming water, towels and a fresh sleeping robe. “We will tend to Lord Gildor,” Naeron said. “He will feel the better for a wash and change of clothes. Go and take your breakfast and refresh yourself, Master Erestor. By the time you return he may be interested in taking some food.” He smiled at Erestor. “Really,” he added softly, “he is improving and I won’t let anything happen to him in your absence. ”

Erestor nodded, and after a gentle kiss to Gildor’s lips, hurried away to his own rooms. Gildor’s “accident” had completely wiped any other thought from his mind, and he suddenly remembered his cat, feeling guilty for not thinking of him earlier. He knew Tinnu would have gone to the kitchens for food, but he must be wondering where Erestor was. It was a good thing that the door to Erestor’s room had a specially built cat-sized door at the bottom that Tinnu could push open from either side to come and go as he pleased. 

 

He’d greeted Tinnu with a quick scratch between his ears and pulled a fresh set of clothing out of his wardrobe before he fully noticed what was lying on his bed. Next to the sleek black cat, The History of Ondolindë had been placed directly in the center of his bed and appeared to be completely unharmed. “What on Arda!” he exclaimed. He picked up the book and opened it, the pages falling automatically open to the story of The House of The Fountain, and Ecthelion, the Lord of the Fountain. Erestor knew that Glorfindel had been especially close to Ecthelion and that he still grieved the loss of his friend, reckoning that the frequent rereading of his story caused the book to open there. But who had taken the book and why? And why place it on Erestor’s bed instead of returning it to Glorfindel? 

Erestor carefully replaced the book on his bed to keep it safe. He would take it to Glorfindel before he went to the dining hall for his breakfast. He went to his bathroom to wash and change, and when he returned to the bedroom, what he saw made him drop the clothes in his hands. The book was gone! He searched through his rooms, but he knew he had laid the book back in the middle of the bed. His windows were still shuttered and the latch on the door was still fastened from the inside, making it impossible for anyone to have entered the room while he was washing. Something very strange was going on. “Would that you could talk to me, Tinnu,” he told the cat. “Who was in here? Who left the book and then took it again? And whatever or whoever it was, it doesn’t seem to have disturbed you at all.” He decided not to tell Glorfindel about the book’s reappearance and disappearance again, but it was definitely time to talk to Elrond about it.

After a hurried meal in the dining hall, he found Elrond in his office and quickly brought his lord up to date with the strange occurrences surrounding Glorfindel’s book.

“That is strange indeed!” Elrond exclaimed quietly. “I cannot imagine…” He shook his head and thought silently for several long moments before saying, “I too do not think that anyone could have entered Glorfindel’s rooms without his knowing it, and no one would have entered your rooms with you inside, even if your windows and door had not been barred. What hand is at work here? Surely no ordinary elf. Who or what it was, we cannot say without more information. I know of nothing we can do until whoever it is makes their next move.”

“Agreed,” Erestor said. “You will tell me if you see the book?”

“Yes, of course,” Elrond replied.

Erestor returned to the healing rooms. He was happy to see Gildor looking a little better. Erestor was pleased to see there was a half-eaten bowl of porridge left on the bedside table, so Gildor had been able to take some food. Naeron had washed the dried salve off of Gildor’s face and applied a fresh, lighter coating of it. The swelling looked to be less than it had been the night before. 

Erestor brought Gildor up to date with the saga of the book, ending with, “And whoever it was, it didn’t disturb Tinnu. He was on my bed next to the book when I left to go into the bathroom and he was still lying in the same spot when I returned. If I hadn’t picked up the book in my own hands I would have thought the whole thing was an illusion.”

“No, no illusion,” Gildor said thoughtfully. “Not since both you and Glorfindel saw and touched the book. If I believed in such things, I would say it was a spirit of some kind moving the book, but why? I wish I was feeling better and able to get out of this bed and help you look for it, but I doubt I’d get out of the door without Naeron or one of his minions tearing out after me.”

“If you tried to get up with that fever you would likely fall flat on your face,” Naeron said, entering the room with more tea for Gildor. “You’re beginning to feel better, but that feeling lies. The fever will flare up again the minute you exert yourself only a little. The poison is only beginning to leave your body. I hope that by the day after tomorrow you will be able to be up and walking again.”

Gildor sighed.

“What Elrond said is right,” Erestor said, picking up their conversation about the book where it had been left off. We need to wait for whoever is playing this game with us to make the next move.”

Gildor nodded and then turned to Naeron. “Ah, I see you’ve brought me more of your special brew to put me to sleep again,” Gildor said to the healer. “I recognize its most peculiar….fragrance.”

“You need rest,” Naeron said. “Sleep is good for you right now, and it will make the day pass quickly for you.”

“You’re right of course.” Turning to Erestor, he said, “Erestor, would you do me a great favor? Could you perhaps talk to one of the beekeepers and check on the wild bees I introduced to my new hive design when all this happened? I need to know if they are going to nest in it – if that at least was a success and all of this was worth it. And if I’m sleeping you won’t have to sit with me all day. I feel guilty keeping you from your work.” 

“You know I don’t mind sitting with you, but when you’re asleep I will check on your bees,” Erestor said, not feeling particularly friendly toward the creatures after what they did to Gildor. “I’m sure I can find one of the keepers to tell me if they stayed in your new hive. Then I can get a bit of work done before coming back to have lunch with you?”

“I’d like that,” Gildor said, giving Erestor a warm smile. Resigned to his fate, he took the cup from Naeron and downed it in one go.

When Gildor fell into his drugged sleep, Erestor went to the open fields behind the Last Homely House where the beekeepers kept the hives that produced the honey used to sweeten everything from mead to pastries in the valley. He kept his distance from the hives, but found an amiable keeper who excitedly told him that Lord Gildor’s ingenious new hive had indeed been populated by the nest of wild bees. Gildor would be pleased.

His mission with the beekeepers accomplished, Erestor made his way to his office to try and get one of his unfinished tasks completed. He spent two hours working through expected autumn crop yields and tallying the records of all the new lambs that had been born, when the sound of a loud “thump” from behind a case of books interrupted his work. Wondering what could possibly have fallen, he rose and walked around to the back of the bookcase. What he saw made him momentarily freeze. The History of Ondolindë lay behind the bookcase, its pages open to the House of The Fountain. He shook his head to clear it, then gingerly picked up the book, carrying it, still open to the page it had fallen open to, and hurried to Elrond’s office as fast as he was able.

Elrond immediately sent for Glorfindel, and when the captain entered the office and saw Erestor holding the book, he exclaimed, “You found it! I was nearly despairing that it was gone forever! Thank you, Erestor!”

“I didn’t really find it,” Erestor said, placing the book in Glorfindel’s hand and telling him his own story of what had happened with the volume. He ended the story with, “Both times the book was open to the House of the Fountain.”

Glorfindel blanched. “Ecthelion’s page. What do you think it means, Elrond?”

“I do not know, Glorfindel, but guard that book carefully,” Elrond replied. “Lock it up. If someone or something is trying to tell us something, perhaps we can force its hand if the book is not available.”

The stunned Glorfindel could only agree.


	2. True love is like ghosts...

Two  
True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.  
Francois de La Rochefoucauld 

It was in the afternoon three days later when Gildor was finally released from the healing room, though Elrond was not letting him return to his work yet. The swelling was nearly gone, and though his skin was still a mottling of healthy skin with various shades of pink and fading red patches, he looked more like himself. Erestor knew he had to let Gildor return to his own rooms. Although they had grown closer over the last three days and declared their feelings, their relationship had not progressed far enough for them to consider sharing a room. After leaving Gildor to settle back into his rooms and ready himself for the evening meal, Erestor went to his office to work until it was time for dinner.

That evening, they sat with Glorfindel in their normal seats at Elrond’s table. Erestor had not been able to talk with Glorfindel since the book had last been found. He was anxious to see if anything else had happened, and so posed the questions, “Has anything else happened with the book since you locked it up? Or is there any other activity around it?”

Glorfindel had an odd look on his face. “Nothing with the book. I check twice a day to make sure it is still locked in my cupboard. Nothing has happened that I can put my finger on, but every so often I think I can hear a faint sound of a snatch of a tune that I feel I should know, but it is never long enough to identify. It’s happened three or four times, and wherever I look, I can never find where the sound is coming from.”

“Now that’s strange,” Gildor said. “I have longed to help you get to the bottom of what is happening. Since Elrond will not let me resume my work yet, perhaps I can help?” He raised his eyebrows quizzically at Elrond, who nodded. “Good. If you hear or see anything, Glorfindel, send someone to me and I will come to you as quickly as I can and help you search.”

When dinner was over, Elrond retired with his family and Glorfindel walked with Gildor and Erestor back to the family wing that housed all of their rooms. The three friends talked quietly about the book, speculating about the possible causes. It was in the middle of a long, semi-dark hallway that they suddenly heard the haunting music of a flute.

“There it is again!” Glorfindel whispered. As the music continued, he suddenly paled. “How? That is Ecthelion’s tune!” He sprang into a run, following the music, Erestor and Gildor right behind him. 

They sprinted out of the hallway and around a corner into the next. Ahead of them at the end of the passage where the music was disappearing, something moved just around the next corner. A faint wisp of shining, moonlit white fluttered and was gone. By the time the three elves cornered the end of the passage, the next hallway was empty and only a faint memory of the music could be heard. 

“What on earth was that?” Gildor mused quietly. “Ecthelion’s song you said?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I don’t know how anyone else could know that song. It was one that Thel wrote, and as far as I know, I was the only one who ever heard it. He wrote that song for me!”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel. There was no sense asking his friend if he was sure his memories were accurate; the look in Glorfindel’s eyes told him there was no need. Glorfindel was sure. “That is indeed strange. How could anyone here in Imladris had gotten a hold of the music? It couldn’t have been written down in a book that someone brought out of Gondolin when you fled the city?”

“I do not know. I don’t think he wrote it down,” Glorfindel said, “but I suppose it could have happened that way. At least now I have something I can do. Tomorrow I will begin a search of all of the books that contain music.”

“And I will help you,” Gildor said. “We will scour all of the books in Imladris and ask Lindir to help us. Any of the minstrels could have books in their quarters and those must be searched too.”

After Glorfindel left them for his quarters, Gildor and Erestor sat on a couch before the fire in Erestor’s sitting room, the counselor’s rooms having been the closer of the two, not to mention the fine wine that Erestor kept.

“Do you think it’s simply a case of someone carrying that song out of Gondolin?” Gildor asked, petting Tinnu, who was asleep on his lap.

Erestor was quiet for a moment before he said, “No, I do not. If that was the case, why hide? Why run from Glorfindel and us? I find it hard to believe that anyone would play such a cruel trick. And the music has to tie into the strange appearing and disappearing of the book. It is too much of a coincidence that both strange things could be happening at once and not be related. That would make it doubtful that it’s simply a matter of someone having the music, but still, we have to look.”

“Agreed. I begin to think that there is a higher hand in this.”

“I have had the same thought,” Erestor said. “Glorfindel is a powerful elf-lord who dwelt amongst the Valar. Is it beyond belief that one of the Vala has a hand in this? Far stranger things have been known to happen in the long history of the elves on Arda, let alone on Valinor. Those who sang the world into existence and gave order to it can surely intervene in the lives of elves.”

“Yes, but would they?” Gildor asked. “It has been long since we have known of such direct intervention.”

Erestor sighed. “I do not know. Both points are valid. We must try to rule out any other possibility. Searching for the music tomorrow is a good next step.”

Gildor moved Tinnu to a pillow on the couch, then rose and set his empty wine glass beside Erestor’s on the mantel. Returning, he sat closer to his companion and pulled Erestor into his arms. “I do not want to leave you,” he said, his mouth closing over Erestor’s in a deep and fervent kiss. 

When the kiss finally ended and Erestor could speak again, he said, “I do not want you to leave either. I have grown used to guarding your sleep these past three days. Is it too early in our relationship to want you to stay with me? I feel like I have been waiting for you all of my life.”

“My dear Erestor, we are very old elves. We have both lived for millennia, waiting for each other. I think long periods of courtship and even longer engagements to get to know each other must be reserved for the young. You and I, we have already learned of life and character, and kindness and honor. It does not take us long to ascertain the mettle of those we meet. I knew within a week of my coming to Imladris that I was in love with you and have been patiently waiting for you to come to the same realization.”

Erestor snorted inelegantly and poked Gildor in the chest. “You’ve been waiting for me? I was waiting for you!”

Gildor smiled. “Does that mean I can stay?”

Erestor wiggled out of Gildor’s arms and rose, pulling Gildor up with him and leading him to his bedroom.

 

Gildor and Erestor walked hand-in-hand into the dining hall in the morning, and joined their friends in their usual places. “Is Celebrían not joining us this morn?” Gildor asked Elrond. “Is she breakfasting with her ladies and the children?”

“Oh, Cousin, what have you done? You and Erestor?” Elrond asked, a smile breaking over his face. “My wife will be so angry with you. You know how she adores weddings.”

Erestor laughed. “She can plan the celebration. It’s fitting that we have one, after all. I wouldn’t want there to be an elf left in the valley who doesn’t know that Gildor is mine.” Glorfindel and Lindir rose and congratulated their friends, and they were soon joined by many more offering their congratulations, for it was evident to all that Erestor and Gildor were now bonded.

When everyone took their seats again and the new mates were finally allowed to break their fast, Erestor said, “We will go and call on Celebrían as soon as we are finished eating. I would not want her to hear the news from anyone else, and we will ask her help in planning a celebration.” Gildor nodded and Erestor went on, “Lindir, do you think while we are with Celebrían you could round up a few of the musicians to help us? They must know where most of the music books are, and would probably even know if anyone had one in their rooms.”

“Yes, of course,” Lindir said. “What a good idea.” 

After Erestor and Gildor called on Celebrían they rejoined Lindir, Glorfindel, and quite a few musicians who had been drafted to help. They scoured through every book or scroll they could find that had any kind of music, searching in offices, in private rooms, and even out in the soldiers’ barracks, where a curmudgeonly old warrior shooed them away and told them to take their searching to the library when their hunting trespassed on his private space. In the library they were hushed by scribes, and in the healing hall they were told to go away and not come back until they had cleaned their dusty hands and clothes. They even looked in the kitchens, where the cordial cook fed the lot of them tea and bannocks to fortify their searching. After a whole day of looking, they found nothing that even remotely resembled the song they had heard. 

That evening, Erestor, Gildor and Glorfindel once again sat at Elrond’s table discussing the next steps they should take. This night they were joined by Celebrían, who had been pacified by Erestor and Gildor calling on her and by their asking her to plan their celebration please, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, because everyone in Imladris knew her parties were the best. She had also been told the story of the book and the music by her husband. When she learned of the latest news, she said, “Since you heard the music last night in a silent, dark, hallway, why don’t the three of you quietly walk the halls after the house has settled for the night? I do not think anyone else should go with you,” she added, eyeing the sudden light in Elrond’s eye. “It was the three of you who heard the music together and saw whatever it was who fled around the corner. If anyone goes with you, whatever it is may not appear.”

“That is a fine idea!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “Thank you, Celebrían. Erestor, Gildor, will the two of you accompany me?”

“Of course we will,” Erestor said, answering for both of them. He knew Gildor was just as keen as he was to solve the mystery, and his bed would still be waiting for them afterwards.

They set out after dinner was finished and sufficient time had passed for all of the other elves to return to their rooms or wherever it was they needed to be. Moving quietly and slowly, they spoke little, and when they did, it was hushed. They crept down hallway after hallway, corridor after corridor, like three dark specters. Up and down staircases, through the great halls and deserted common rooms they walked, and heard nothing.

“This isn’t working,” Glorfindel finally whispered, and just as the words left his mouth, they heard the tune, again played on a flute. 

“It’s coming from the gardens!” Erestor said, moving quickly towards the music. The others followed at Erestor’s heels. They ran down a flight of stairs, through the dark library, and out on the dark terrace, and there they stopped. The music could clearly be heard, coming from a figure that stood highlighted in the light shining down from the night sky. It was incorporeal and ghostly, glowing transparent white in the moonlight. They stood and watched as the figure slowly dimmed and disappeared and the music faded away. 

“What was that?” Gildor exclaimed.

“Or who?” Erestor quietly added.

After a long moment, Glorfindel whispered, “Ecthelion.”

 

Tinnu lay at the foot of Erestor’s bed, sound asleep and contented in the knowledge that his elves were home and with him, and he was fed and warm and safe. He liked Gildor and was happy to have two elves now to feed and pet him. 

Tinnu’s paws twitched as he dreamt, and Gildor chuckled, watching the animal sleep as he contemplated the night’s events. “I like Tinnu.”

“He likes you too,” Erestor said. “So do I.”

Gildor chuckled again and pulled Erestor to him, hugging him tightly. “I like you, too.” He buried his head in Erestor’s neck and suckled on the soft skin.

Erestor made a frustrated sound and moved his neck away. “Not yet,” he said. “We have to think this through.”

Gildor huffed. “I have thought it through over and over and keep arriving at the same spot: Glorfindel said it was Ecthelion. Fin would know what he looks like, so we believe him. Ecthelion died in Gondolin. Ecthelion is in Valinor, presumably in Námo’s halls, if he has not yet been reborn. He wasn’t reborn when Glorfindel was sent here. Whichever, he has not been returned to Arda. So what is his fëa doing here when his body clearly is not?”

“And that, my dear Gildor, is the question. I think Ecthelion must be trying to reach Glorfindel, don’t you? Why else would he have taken the book?”

“How can a fëa take a book, pick it up, move it, and open it to the same page all the time?”

Erestor sighed. “But I know in my heart the apparition is connected to the book. It opened to Ecthelion’s page. It has to be. Ecthelion’s spirit would be strong – as strong as Glorfindel’s.”

“Yes, I agree,” Gildor said. He kissed Erestor soundly, and then asked pleadingly, “Can I make love to you now please? I promise we’ll talk about this again tomorrow as much as you want if only we can stop for tonight.”

Erestor smiled at his mate. “I do love you,” he whispered. He moved against Gildor, wrapping his arms around the strong shoulders. “Yes, we will stop for tonight. It is time for you to love me.”


	3. It is not the strength of the body that counts...

Three  
“It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit.”  
J.R.R. Tolkien

“We must return to the garden again tonight,” Erestor said over breakfast.

“And this time Celebrían and I will be with you,” Elrond added firmly.

Glorfindel slowly shook his head. “I do not think I can bear it again. Who would play such a cruel trick on me?” 

“My dear friend, I do not think it’s a trick,” Erestor quietly said, addressing Glorfindel. The elf’s eyes were red-rimmed and it was apparent he’d found no rest the night before. “I believe Ecthelion’s spirit is trying to reach you. Why else would that book have kept opening to his page? Why would you hear his music? You yourself said it was his figure. Why shouldn’t your friend’s fëa reach out to you? All I can think is that it is for a very important reason.”

“I cannot dare to hope,” Glorfindel said. “I cannot bear to think it is he, only to lose him again.”

“This must play out,” Elrond said. “Your friends are with you, Glorfindel. Stay strong and draw support from us. Whatever is going to happen, my heart tells me will happen tonight. You will not have much longer to endure this. What if Erestor is right and Ecthelion is trying to contact you?”

Glorfindel did not answer.

Erestor, Gildor and Elrond stayed close to Glorfindel during the day, trying to distract him with whatever work or tasks they could get him to focus on for at least a little while. The mid-day meal was taken in the gardens with Celebrían at her insistence, and the afternoon passed much the same as the morning. They took their dinner together in Elrond and Celebrían’s rooms, away from the other elves of the house. It was a largely silent meal with little eaten, each of them too pent up with nerves, anxious for what would happen.

The house quieted and they waited on the terrace for a sign, hoping against hope that Erestor was right and Glorfindel would not be disappointed. After what seemed like hours but was less than one, the faint sound of flute music drifted through the trees to where they stood, and the group silently and slowly followed its call, Glorfindel in the lead.

They wound through the garden paths to the trees, and through the trees to a moonlit, foggy clearing at the banks of the Bruinen. In the center of the clearing stood a nebulous figure, its features hazy and vague in the mist. 

Glorfindel walked fearlessly toward the figure, stopping perhaps twenty paces from it. “Ecthelion!” he called out. “Speak to me! Why do you haunt my steps? Are you sent here to me?”

After long moments, a groan emanated from the figure and deadened words seemed to fill the air around them, but Erestor realized he was hearing the words in his mind, not in his ears. He looked to Gildor, grabbing his arm, and realized his mate was experiencing the same.

“Námo!” the voice cried out. “Release me! I have waited long enough for my rebirth. What more will you have me do? Do I displease you enough for you to keep me from Arda? Please! Please. Do you not see how I suffer in your Halls? Please, restore me.”

The voice faded away and all was silent, but the ghostly figure remained. The elves watched silently, not daring to move. Erestor clung to Gildor’s arm. Elrond’s arm was around his wife. And they waited. Long minutes passed. There was no further sound and the figure did not disappear. 

Slowly, the changes coming so gradually that time crept, the figure was transformed. Mist swirled around the ghost, and then features formed and solidified. Limbs gained firmness and strength. Dark hair sprang out around it and tumbled down back and shoulders. Even the clothing on the figure gained substance and turned from a diaphanous white to brilliant colors of blue and silver. The mist dissolved and before them stood the reborn elf.

“Ecthelion!” Glorfindel shouted, running to him as the newly reborn elf collapsed to his knees. Glorfindel pulled Ecthelion into his arms and they sank to the ground together.

“Ooh!” Gildor whispered. “Not friends.”

“More than friends,” Erestor whispered back. “Ecthelion is his mate, and we never knew.”

“Glorfindel,” Elrond said, “bring him to the house. He may be cold and will need food and drink.”

An hour later, Ecthelion sat on Glorfindel’s couch, his mate’s arms around him. He had eaten and the chill of Mandos was finally leaving his bones. 

“You are welcome to Imladris, Ecthelion, and welcome to our family,” Elrond said. 

Ecthelion bowed his head to the Lord of Imladris. “You are descended from the daughter of my Lord, King Turgon, are you not? The child of Eärendil and Elwing? I am honored to serve you and your people, and I thank you for your welcome.” 

“Was it you moving the book?” Erestor asked him. 

Ecthelion nodded. “Most of the Valar agreed to my rebirth, but Námo did not want me to leave his halls. So I started coming here. I was trying to cause mischief so Námo would finally realize that he had to release me and let me go. I could not bear to be parted from Glorfindel for any longer. It had already been too many hundreds and thousands of years I dwelt in those cold halls.”

“You were brave to defy the Keeper of Souls,” Erestor said.

“Erestor believed all along that you were trying to reach me, but I was afraid to hope,” Glorfindel said. “There is a reason he is Elrond’s chief counselor.”

Erestor shrugged. “True love is never an illusion. I have found it is never wise to underestimate the power of love.” He raised Gildor’s fingers to his lips, kissed them, and smiled.

Epilogue

That which is not good for the bee-hive cannot be good for the bees.   
Marcus Aurelius

Erestor and Elrond stood a little away from the beehive, while a carefully veiled and gauntleted Gildor removed the top of the new hive. The honey was ready for harvesting. Gildor had used smoke to calm the bees into the bottom of the hive where its nursery was, and worked quickly. First to be removed was the top cap of the hive. When it was removed, Erestor could see bars laid over the top of the exposed mid-section. Gildor lifted a bar, revealing the full comb suspended from it. Beekeepers took each bar and comb as Gildor lifted it, new empty bars were laid in place of the full ones, and the top of the hive was replaced. There were several more hives of Gildor’s design in the field, but this was the first to be harvested, the hive of the wild bees Gildor had transplanted.

“Oh, well done, Gildor!” Erestor said. “The hive is perfectly preserved and ready for the bees to make more honey!”

“Marvelous!” exclaimed Elrond, applauding. “We will replace all of our hives with your design, Gildor. Ingenious!”

Gildor smiled. “No more destroying hives and bees simply to harvest the honey,” he said. “All of those stings I got that day were well worth it.” He took the veil from his face, walked over to Erestor and pulled his mate into his arms. “Just think, if I hadn’t gotten stung so badly, we might still be dancing around each other.” He kissed Erestor, out in the middle of the field of beehives, in front of Elrond, the beekeepers and the half of the household who had come to watch. 

Erestor could not have been happier.

~the end


End file.
